


You Have a Way with Me

by anomalousmaterials



Category: Fallout: New Vegas
Genre: Dancing, Drinking, M/M, Post-Apocalypse, dean martin soothes the soul
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-20
Updated: 2012-08-20
Packaged: 2017-11-12 13:47:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 800
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/491731
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anomalousmaterials/pseuds/anomalousmaterials
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Crossposted from the Fallout Kink Meme.</p><p>Prompt:</p><p>I'd like to see a fic to Dean Martin's "Sway". :3 Any and all pairings are cool with me. I'd just like to see some dancing to that song. :D :D :D</p>
    </blockquote>





	You Have a Way with Me

**Author's Note:**

> Crossposted from the Fallout Kink Meme.
> 
> Prompt:
> 
> I'd like to see a fic to Dean Martin's "Sway". :3 Any and all pairings are cool with me. I'd just like to see some dancing to that song. :D :D :D

The dull roar of the party could be heard from the floor below, filtering through the floorboards as a happy sort of sound. It was distantly comforting to the Courier that even through all this madness, they could all be happy once in a while and forget about Caesar, raging Super Mutants, and whatever the catch of the day was.

Through a whiskey-gifted haze (hey, they didn’t call Cass ‘Whiskey Rose’ for nothing, right?) he was vaguely aware of this particular celebration party missing a crucial component. Hell, he couldn’t even remember what they were celebrating any more. But something was off.

He cruised around the elevator for a few floors, confusing numbers and words and rooms until he could swear that Victor scowled at him and deposited him with a sharp ping in the cocktail lounge.

Courier blinked, staring at the dark room, and the bright Vegas beckoning him from beyond dirty windows. Why would Victor drop him off here? It always felt so empty (because it was, he reminded himself after a slow second), and yet... The soft, melodious crackles of a radio drifted on the breeze, dipping around the chairs to fall on his ears like raindrops.

He followed the source of the sound, sure he would find a radio and nothing else. As he closed in on his target with the plodding, methodical steps of someone who’s more than a little tipsy, he saw a shadow blocking the otherwise-bright window.

Everything clicked into place.

He opened his mouth and moved to ask... something, but he thought better of it, settled back to watching Arcade watch the world pass him by. Mr. New Vegas’ voice rumbled something soothing on the radio, a golden voice rolling from one song right into another, this one starting with the slow promise of guitar.

“‘Gott ist tot,’” Arcade’s voice quavered, breaking the tension. “‘Gott ist tot’ and... it means nothing. It just... never changes. Here we are, championing a ‘free Vegas!’ and—‘death to Caesar!’ but all we can do is sit and pray that once this is all done, something more awful doesn’t just step in and dash all our plans. Hopeless. It’s just so damn...”

“How did you know I was here?” whispered the Courier in the sudden quiet of the room.

“Heard the elevator.” Arcade shrugged, a shimmer of shadow. “I’m anti-social, not deaf.”

“Mmm.” The Courier considered this, before taking a step closer. “Do you want to dance?”

Arcade turned around, the crisp material of his labcoat brushing up against the Courier’s side. He was turned now so the Courier could make out his features, and his nose wrinkled. “You’ve imbibed.”

“If that’s Arcade-speak for ‘you’re drunk,’ you’re wrong. I _was_ drunk. Very different.”

The sly smile Arcade was fighting to hide showed exactly how much he really believed that. “ _Right._ ” The doctor pushed his glasses back up on his nose with the pad of a finger almost nervously. “You asked if I wanted to...”

“To dance,” Courier said again, laughing nervously as he laced his fingers into Arcade’s; pulled them closer, trying to make their fingers and hands dance before their bodies had gotten the message.

“No. No. No, Courier, I can’t...” but the protests didn’t even register, and the Courier had already pulled Arcade up into his arms, steadfastly ignoring any and all words that came out of Arcade’s mouth.

“But you can, because here you are,” came the smug rebuttal as Courier swayed with the music. “Besides, the nice man asked us too.” And he was. _Stay with me, sway with me..._

“You. Are definitely drunk. And you people wonder why I don’t drink Cass’ moonshine,” Arcade murmured before admitting defeat by way of resting his head against Courier’s chest. “Why am I always the follower?”

“You’re not. I remember this one time that you...” the Courier started, kissing down Arcade’s jawline before he finished the sentence.

“Ass.” Courier pressed his lips into Arcade’s skin, grinning, and wrapped his arms further around Arcade, slowly swaying in an arc, their feet slow and clumsy.

_Only you have the magic technique; when we sway I go weak..._

“It’s been a while. Since I danced.” Arcade’s voice came hesitantly, and the Courier kept dancing, not wanting to stop him in the middle of a very rare personal anecdote. “It’s nice.”

“Could you get used to it?”

“Maybe if you were less insufferable. Then I’d consider it.”

“Ass,” the Courier replied, and they chuckled to each other, the noise and the world forgotten in the little bit of peace they’d created for themselves. Maybe the world wasn’t anywhere near perfect—but just for a second...

  
_Make me thrill as only you know how  
Sway me smooth, sway me now  
You know how  
Sway me smooth, sway me now_   



End file.
